


Wings Carry Me Over the Sea (So I Can Touch Ground)

by Rrrowr



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: blindfold_spn, Dom/sub, Dominant Castiel, Established Relationship, Light BDSM, M/M, Punishment, Spit Kink, Submissive Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:04:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rrrowr/pseuds/Rrrowr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Down deep, Sam's gut rolls in protest. He knows what's coming and doesn't particularly want to take it, but he will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wings Carry Me Over the Sea (So I Can Touch Ground)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: _sam/castiel in a consensual and happy dom/sub relationship and one of their favourite kinks for proving obedience is for the dom to spit in the sub's mouth._  
>  Originally posted: [here](http://blindfold-spn.livejournal.com/7359.html?thread=8397247#t8397247)

The case that the three of them were working on goes down with only a few minor problems. Dean's happy about everything ending well, but Sam returns to the motel feeling unsettled. He'd slipped up earlier, ignoring Castiel's warning, and had ended up in a bit of a mess because of it. It hadn't been anything he couldn't handle, but Sam could have avoided it had he simply listened. Castiel had departed almost as soon as the dust settled -- his only farewell being a stern, lingering sweep of his gaze over Sam. 

It's too much now to hope that Castiel isn't disappointed in his behavior, and the knowledge that he's done something to make Castiel unhappy grates at his nerves, making it impossible for him to relax even though the action's over and done. He paces the motel room, wondering when tonight's events will come back to bite him, and restlessly grumbles until Dean gets irritated.

"Get outta here, would ya?" Dean says. "You're driving me up the wall."

" _You_ get outta here," Sam snaps back -- unnecessarily waspish just for the sake of fighting. He has an itch under his skin with Castiel's name written all over it. It wasn't Dean's fault, Sam reminds himself, so with a frustrated grit of his teeth, he reaches for his coat to do as Dean suggests. A walk would be good -- clear his head, maybe; he needs to waste this excess energy that's built in his blood. "Don't wait up," he tells Dean and closes the door on Dean's grunted acknowledgement.

Sam barely gets out of the door before he feels a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from taking the long trudge to the 24-hour diner down the street. On instinct, he whirls, prepared to fend off an attack. He wants the fight -- wants the smack of striking fists and the bruising -- but what he doesn't expect is for his attacker to be Castiel or for Castiel to shove him back against the wall with his wrists pinned against his chest.

He can't keep the surprise out of his voice. "Cas -- what are you doing here?"

"Why am I ever here," Castiel replies dryly. "To give you what you need and to stop you from doing something stupid." Minutely, his fingers tighten around Sam's wrists. "Again," he amends.

Castiel doesn't ask Sam to follow him. He doesn't need to -- he simply takes Sam where he needs to and puts Sam where he wants him. Sam puts up a fight because he needs it. He's got his pride to work around, after all, and being shoved into place by Castiel -- who is smaller and slighter than him -- grates at his nerves. There's always that grit in the back of his brain that's incredulous that Castiel can render him powerless, but there's no doubting the strength behind his grip or the masterful way he wrestles Sam to the bed and climbs over him. 

It's nice, actually -- in the end. Sam can jerk and squirm and flail as much as he wants. Castiel won't hurt him unless he must. Even if he manages to get his hands free once or twice, Sam always, _always_ ends up right where he needs to be -- flat on his back with Castiel looming over him, coolly collected and concerned. It takes the responsibility out of his hands for a little while, makes it so that the only thing that Sam has to worry about is what Castiel does to him and says to him, and that's... that's just nice to have once in a while. Nice to know that he can guiltlessly trust Castiel to have this -- to take this -- and not take advantage of it or feel bad about it later. They have this because Sam needs it now and again and because Castiel would like to be the one to give it to him.

"Do you know why I've brought you here?" Castiel asks. He has his weight carried on one hand, which spans Sam's crossed wrists against his chest. It makes breathing a little difficult -- Castiel is far heavier than he looks -- and Sam's attention is rapt on the fold of his skinny, pale fingers over Sam's skin. Getting his palm under Sam's jaw, Castiel forces his face up with his free hand and peers down at him. "Don't make me repeat myself."

Clarity was something that both of them insisted on -- almost out of necessity, what with Cas coming from an angel's perspective and Sam, from a human's; miscommunication about their expectations and needs was all-too-easy. Even so, the knowledge that Castiel would not be doing this unless he felt he had to makes the words stick in his mouth. He was right before -- he had disappointed Castiel -- and the guilt claws at the inside of his ribs, aching for freedom.

"Tell me," Castiel insists. 

Sam lurches, gaze roving all over Castiel's face but never actually making eye contact. "Cas, I can't--"

"You can." Castiel draws his hand down Sam's neck, bridging his fingers over his collarbones before scooping them under his hair. He cups the back of Sam's head and squeezes -- at once a reassurance and a pressure to speak. "You and I both know what happened today. Now say it."

For a long while, Sam merely lays there, trembling for breath under Castiel until finally the words inches past his lips with a halting tremor. "You-- you gave me an warning -- an order," he says. "And I..." Castiel lifts a brow at Sam's hesitation. "I ignored it."

"Good boy," Castiel says, stroking his thumb behind Sam's ear. 

The endearment -- words and gesture both, really -- makes Sam's lashes flutter, relieved. The truth is revealed, and they can finally move on to Sam making amends. That's the beautiful part about their relationship -- as often as Sam is expected to be perfect, he's also allowed to make mistakes because the mistakes meant that Castiel would find some way for Sam to make up for it. There's already so much guilt in his regular life that it's fantastic to have Castiel to pick away pieces of it, lightening the load as much as possible.

"I'm angry with you," Castiel murmurs softly -- quickly making light, scolding noises when Sam's demeanor threatens alertness, and easing him right back down into the quiet lull of being petted. "Not only did you disobey, but you did so recklessly. You wasted time and energy, and for a long time, I wasn't able to know where you were."

Castiel's hand eases over Sam's shoulder, down his arm to his side, and he rucks up the hems of Sam's shirts to reveal the bandaged wound under his ribs. It isn't a big wound -- it hadn't even required stitches or earned much from Dean besides a low whistle and a barb -- but Castiel gently lays his palm over it as if it were still a threat.

"You returned to me, injured," Castiel says, and there's something in his voice -- something soft and tremulous -- that urges Sam to look at him properly. What he finds there wrenches a stricken noise from Sam's throat. "What good is it for me to give orders if you don't follow them?"

"I'm sorry," Sam gasps. "I'm sorry--"

Castiel's mouth dips into a frown, disappointment so palpable to Sam that it practically drops off of his every word. "The orders keep you safe. I can't keep you safe if you fail to do as I say." He presses his hand more firmly against Sam's wound. Sam feels an itch over his skin, a warm tingle, and when Castiel pulls the bandage away and smooths his hand over the patch of skin underneath, there's nothing but fresh, baby-soft skin to the touch. "You can't rely on my power to keep you alive when my words are sufficient. Do you understand?"

"I understand. I'll be good," he promises. "I'll be better. Cas, please, I'll do whatever you want."

" _Will you now_ ," Castiel intones. He catches Sam under the jaw again and digs his fingertips into his cheeks, squeezing around his teeth. "Open your mouth for me."

Sam doesn't give in immediately -- can't ever make himself do it that quickly. It has nothing to do with wanting to test Castiel or see if he'll force his cooperation. It's just that he likes knowing that Castiel will wait him out. He'll cut off all other avenues that Sam might take and leave only this one task -- this single thing that shows Castiel that Sam wants to be obedient despite these infrequent slip ups.

Down deep, Sam's gut rolls in protest. He knows what's coming and doesn't particularly want to take it, but he will. As he slowly eases his teeth apart and draws his lips back, Castiel rises up on his knees and lets his gaze fall fondly to the wide cup of Sam's mouth. It's the sound that gets to Sam most of all -- the slick build of moisture at the front of Castiel's mouth -- and he edges his mouth open further just to keep from straining away.

Spit bubbles from between Castiel's lips, gets pushed out by the bright pink of his tongue, and it drips down with such a cruel slowness that Sam whines with the effort of staying still. It hits his lip -- warm and revoltingly wet -- but Sam closes his teeth over it and sucks it up all the same before opening his mouth for more. Castiel's hand slides into his hair, gripping his hair tightly, and he spits again -- this time, right onto Sam's tongue.

"Such a good boy." Castiel's praise comes almost absently, hooded eyes looking exceptionally bright as he watches Sam lick his lips. "That's it," he says. He lets another pearl of saliva drop into Sam's mouth and sweeps his thumb along Sam's lower lip to help him catch the last traces of it. "Swallow it," and after a gasp, Sam does, feeling the bob of his Adam's apple press against Castiel's thumb.

Being the type that's frugal with his words, Castiel says nothing after that -- not even praises beyond the way he brushes his knuckles sweetly at Sam's temple -- but he releases his arms, shifting afterward to continue bracing himself above. Sliding his hands under Castiel's coat, Sam touches his waist and urges him closer. Even hovering above him like this, Castiel is a small guy -- so tiny that Sam feels like he could just curl around the guy and smother him sometimes -- but he makes up for it with sheer presence. He slides closer like Sam wants, getting his knees by Sam's hips, but he sits up too.

Feeling bereft without the security of Castiel's shadow over him, Sam arches restlessly within the bracket of his legs. "Cas?"

Castiel's hand covers his throat. His fingers find Sam's pulse and rest there, measuring the rapid beat of his heart. Sam can see the focus in Castiel's eyes -- can see his brain counting the time -- and tries to keep his breath steady, tries to keep as quiet as possible so that Castiel can take his reassurance. Then, Castiel bends. He cups Sam's face with both hands and kisses him deeply, taking his mouth and demanding a response as if that alone were all he needed to have proof of life. Sam opens up under the onslaught, letting Castiel sweep his tongue between his teeth and meeting it sweetly with his own.

Castiel breathes harshly as he draws back -- one loud inhale and exhale that flares his nostrils and makes him look almost animalistic. He rubs his fingers over Sam's swollen lower lip and says, "Promise me that you'll be more careful in the future and know that if you break that promise, I'll take it out on your hide."

"I promise," he answers at once.

"Good." Castiel smiles and kisses Sam again, petting him. "My very good boy."


End file.
